A City Marked

The Golden Harvest finished with a great ceremony at the square of the Basilica. Few from the Lyceum participated, as their schedules and classes had resumed, which proved for the best. The news from the copper lanes could not be suppressed. Inquisitors had already investigated the scene of the crime, interrogating everyone in the vicinity. With little gain, they had expanded their search, calling in more members of their order. It was unusual to see more than two inquisitors at a time; thus, everyone took notice when two dozen of the men and women in dark blue cloaks crossed the city to search the copper lanes.

With each retelling, the story only grew. One victim became many. An old house was a den of depravity. A single maleficar turned into an entire cult. Tales of other misdeeds, whether real or feigned, wove killings and kidnappings together stretching back years, and none could feel safe anymore on the streets of Morcaster.

The sight of inquisitors did nothing to calm people, on the contrary. Based on the stories now in circulation, maleficars had enjoyed free reins in the city for a long time now. Seeing the blue cloaks only reminded the inhabitants that they were not safe from these hidden killers.

~

Eventually, the rumours reached the Lyceum as well, where they spread with the same haste as elsewhere. The faculty exchanged words in whispered tones, and Master Fenrick left towards the copper lanes. The students discussed the event in excited voices, adding their own speculations. Barely any of them had any actual knowledge on the matter, though, allowing the stories to continue growing albeit in new directions.

As one of the few already familiar with the topic of a maleficar in the slums, Martel avoided the many conversations in the hallways. He saw no reason to attract attention from his peers or the teachers, remembering Maximilian's warning to avoid the inquisitors.

Yet as he walked down the corridor and caught the eyes of Eleanor, the unspoken look between them made both the students stop in their tracks. With a moment's hesitation, she approached him. "I assume you have heard?"

He nodded a little. "Yes."

"Do you intend to get involved?"

Although her tone was neutral, he sensed disapproval behind her question. It did not seem any of her business, but he saw no reason to start an argument either. "No, I don't see what I could possibly do, anyway."

Her shoulder seemed to relax a little. "Indeed." She continued on her way.

~

Martel did not intend to get involved. Trying to gain entrance to the place of the murder would only attract the inquisitors towards him. Besides, Martel was in no position to pick a fight with some dark sorcerer, even if he had any clue where to look.

But… He did have friends in the copper lanes who might be affected, and at the very least, he ought to check on them. So, once he had eaten supper, he left the school.

He avoided the market district, so he would not have to go through the harbour to reach the slums; as the other night had shown, Tibert had an appetite for revenge. Even if he had been run out of the copper lanes to raucous laughter, Martel had no wish to go by the docks and meet him by accident.

Instead, his route took him through the quieter western district of merchants and warehouses. Walking this path had rarely bothered Martel before, but now the streets seemed eerie in abandonment. Work had finished for the day, leaving only the occasional stragglers walking around; people like Martel with their own errands.

He went first to the home of Weasel and the other children. Usually, they noticed him from a distance and approached him; nothing of the sort happened tonight. He reached the backdoor without anyone hailing him. As he knocked, nobody answered.

"It's Martel," he called out.

He knocked a few more times until the door was finally pulled back forcefully. The young chief looked up at him. "We are laying low," he sneered. "You're not helping with that."

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"We are all fine," Weasel said impatiently, "but we are not keen on wizards in our home while the inquisitors are dragging nets through the whole district!" He slammed the door shut.

Glancing around at the dark alley, Martel suddenly felt alone and vulnerable, and he hurried back to the street, illuminated by the moonlight. He could go home, but he felt obliged to make another stop.

~

At least the doors of The Copper Drum were open, with light and noise coming from within. Although it looked less busy than usual, it was hardly deserted. The guard outside nodded at Martel in greeting.

Walking inside, he had direct access to the bar for once. He placed a few copper coins on the desk and received a tankard from the barrel in the corner. Glancing over the common room, he found his friends at a table. They all sat with heads hanging low, staring into their flagons rather than saying much.

Martel sat down glancing around as they raised their faces to look at him. Even Butcher seemed subdued. "So, you heard," Lothar remarked.

"I did. Well, I heard a lot of rumours, but I assume they hold a grain of truth," the novice replied.

The old veteran nodded. "Old woman killed in her home. Strange, mystical markings on her. That's all Kerra told us."

"How did she find out?"

"One of her men found out. Told her about it, and she's the one who told the inquisitors." Lothar took a sip from his mug.

"Imagine not even being safe in your own home, your own bed." Nothing of Butcher's natural cheer remained in his voice; understandable given the circumstances, but it was eerie to see the jovial man in this mood.

"As if times aren't hard enough for copper people," Cornelius growled.

"What about Tibert? Have you seen anything of him?" Probably best to stay aware of the irate tavernkeeper, now that Martel had thwarted him twice.

The men's shook their heads. "Not since he ran out of the lanes. But he makes a good living from smuggling through the port, so he's not done for. Best to stay away," Lothar advised him.

"I intend to," Martel declared.

"You should head home before it gets any later. Nobody is safe these days, not even a mageling like you." Lothar emptied his mug.

With nothing more to gain, Martel nodded in farewell and left. Outside on the street, as he began walking home, he stuck one hand into his pocket and felt a small object. Pulling it out, the moonlight revealed it to be Regnar's rune token, gifted to him months ago. It would protect him, the hedge mage had said. Hoping that held true, but also hoping he would not need protection, Martel returned home.